 |
| I’m
not that geeky, really: (l-r) Cera and Doubleday
in Youth in Revolt. |
Cause
Without a Rebel
By
Laura Leon
Youth
in Revolt
Directed
by Miguel Arteta
Ah, to be a teen again, suffering through the angst evoked
in favorite rock songs or, if you’re Nick Twisp (Michael Cera)
in Youth in Revolt, movies like La Strada and
a shelf full of classic lit. The underlying goal to this suffering,
of course, is love, or, in Nick’s case, getting laid, which,
in his mind, apparently amounts to the same thing once he
catches a glimpse of lissome Sheeni (Portia Doubleday) en
route to the trailer-park showers. Yes, I mention such details
because they mean something in Miguel Arteta’s interpretation
of C.D. Payne’s popular book.
Instantly smitten, Nick sets about trying not to be so geeky,
especially once Sheeni makes it clear that she’s got a boyfriend
who speaks perfect French and writes futurist percussive poetry.
At this point, early on, we realize that Nick hasn’t really
read all those great books in his room, nor has he plumbed
the depths of Fellini’s works, but he earnestly wants to do
so. Such wannabe-isms float the trifle that is Youth in
Revolt. Nick ends up developing an alter ego, François
Dillinger, who smokes and sports a caterpillar mustache, wears
topsides sans socks and altogether looks like the Marlboro
Light man. Only Nick can see or hear François as he encourages
him to set fire to his mother Estelle’s (Jean Smart) car or
force the issue of shared dormitory sleeping arrangements
with Sheeni.
Nick’s parents are self-involved—dad George couldn’t be bothered
with the boy, and Estelle expends her limited energies ensuring
whatever man she’s got in bed stays interested. “You’re selling
yourself short, mom,” Nick tells her, when she explains that
it’s hard for 48-year-olds with a kid and stretch marks to
get a guy—and at first we think, how thoughtful of him. As
the movie progresses, however, we realize that not only does
he not mean it, but it’s true as well. Sheeni’s parents, played
by M. Emmett Walsh and Mary Kay Place, are stand-ins for all
things limited and small-minded in indie films—which is to
say, Christian—and Arteta has fun doing close-ups of Walsh,
his character felled by magic mushrooms, schmearing potatoes
all over his face. In comparison, Sheeni’s drugged-out brother
Phil is presented as edgy and cool in the way that Nick can’t
even dream of becoming.
Arteta shows some flair, especially in the stop-action animated
sequences, as when Nick and an Indian classmate take a road
trip to see Sheeni and her slutty roommate. (It’s also a practical
use of an apparently limited budget.)
Doubleday is convincing, blending sunny beauty with a glimmer
of naughtiness, but one almost wishes she went further, dug
deeper, kind of like Melanie Griffith in Something Wild
(coincidentally, that movie’s costar, Ray Liotta, appears
here, a potent visual warning to all of the dangers of hard
living and plain old age). Cera continues to ply his sensitive,
dorky everyguy persona; and although at times you see more,
his François is too lightweight, never going quite far enough
to spur Nick onto greater feats of derring-do.
Pure
Evil
Daybreakers
Directed
by the Spierig Brothers
The title of this nifty horror flick, Daybreakers,
says everything you need to know about what writer-directors
(and twin brothers) Michael and Peter Spierig feel about vampires—because
it refers to humans.
These Australian filmmakers don’t give us a world of intoxicating,
sexy bloodsuckers living uneasily among tantalized regular
folks. Instead, it’s a creepily ordered, crypto-fascist Earth
where vampires rule over—and hunt down—a dwindling number
of humans. In other words, they’re the villains. When they’re
not tearing into human flesh with gusto, the vampires take
on the airs of a decadent elite, savoring the aroma of blood
like wine connoisseurs and enjoying their blood-spiked morning
lattes.
In one of many nice touches, the real power in this world
is a pharmaceutical corporation, led by Charles Bromley (Sam
Neill, oozing malevolence). The rapidly depleting human population
is causing drastic supply problems—the poorer vampires are
starving, with many turning into batlike things—and Bromley
has his best scientist, Edward Dalton (Ethan Hawke), desperately
trying to come up with a blood substitute. The hematologist
isn’t happy about being a vampire (Hawke amusingly resurrects
his glum, mid-’90s slacker persona), and is ripe for collaboration
when a group of humans ask for help.
While the vampires are trying to find a blood substitute,
the humans are searching for a cure for vampirism. (“What’s
to cure,” a vamp asks sardonically.) Turns out there is
a cure, as evidenced in the person of ex-vampire Lionel Cormac,
aka “Elvis” (Willem Dafoe, who plays the character, quite
effectively, as a dignified, crossbow-totin’ redneck.). It’s
up to Dalton to figure out how the change happened.
Is the explanation kinda dumb? Yes. This is a horror film.
But it’s dramatically neat.
The film is clearly low-budget, and some things they try—The
Matrix-style “human farm,” for example—are unimpressive.
But lack of money has its benefits, too. When it comes to
violence, there’s nothing fancy: The feeding frenzies are
primal and fake-blood brutal. The production design has to
rely on small details, like the enclosed walkways between
skyscrapers, to present a world where most inhabitants can’t
face the sun.
The filmmakers maintain the rules of the darkly appealing
world they’ve created, which is a great virtue in the horror
genre. The plot twists have unexpected resonance, and the
ending nicely bookends the elegant, horrifying opening. Kudos
to the Spierigs for bringing some narrative order to a vampire-besotted
cinematic world.
—Shawn
Stone
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